Wednesday, April 15, 2015
When the world fed on pain,
and the pain wed with feign,
vanity did a fair bargain,
but my dark clouds did not rain!
Brightest was he who burned under the sun.
Richest was he who landed in the tomorrow.
While my hopes bled from a quill,
Their golden nibs rested in the borough.
Laughter that turned into silence,
And silence that rift the bond.
It was friendship that was born scorned,
But my love exponentially grew fond.
Unfit was I, to be theirs own.
Unfit were they, to let me stay.
What we share is the world we live.
And what we care is our world we love.
I wish I were a part,
I’m glad that I am apart.